Midwife's Christmas Proposal. Fiona McArthur
When Tara stepped out of the bathroom thirty minutes later she felt nothing like the crumpled sleepyhead she’d been when she’d slipped in.
Her glance in the mirror over the claw-foot bath had reassured her. Blonde hair spikily fresh from the shower and her eyes confident and ready to meet the new guy and his intriguing sister.
Tara had experienced a lot of heartache and struggle in her life and it had made her wary of meeting new people. But the shadows of her past had made her who she was today—her T-shirt said it all: ‘Woman With Attitude’.
As she walked back towards her room she passed the open door of one of the guest rooms. She couldn’t help but have a tiny peek inside.
Simon’s bag lay open on the bed, and she blinked at the neatly folded clothes in piles lined up in a row as she drew level, unlike her own ‘bomb-hit’ room, and she vowed she’d keep her door shut until he left.
Simon came into view, busily unpacking, and must have become aware of the eyes on him from the doorway. He glanced up, smiled, and she faltered. Man, that was some smile, like a warm breeze had blown down the hall and into her face, and Tara nearly tripped on the towel that slipped unexpectedly from her fingers.
‘Hi, there. You must be Tara.’
She bent quickly to retrieve the towel. ‘And you’re Simon.’ Tara moistened her lips. Louisa had said he was a bit of hunk like his dad but she’d put that down as favouritism for a relative. She certainly hadn’t expected the fantasy that suddenly swirled in her head. Something like inviting him in two doors down for some seriously red-hot tumbling, but, mamma mia, he had a wicked bedroom grin.
Whoa, there, libido, where did you spring from? More to the point, where have you been?
Then he stepped closer and held out his hand and she forgot to think, just responded, and his fingers closed around hers, cool and surprisingly comforting, as he leaned forward with grace and unselfconscious warmth so that she couldn’t be offended as he unexpectedly kissed her cheek.
‘It’s very nice to meet you.’
A cheek-kisser? Her brain clicked in. And nice to meet you, too, mister. There was nothing gushing or sleazy about the way he’d done the deed but she still wasn’t quite sure how he managed to get away with it.
It was as if his whole persona screamed gentleman and usually the goody-two-shoes type turned her off. Though she was trying to change her tastes from bad boys to normal men after the last fiasco.
This guy made her think of one of those lifesavers on the beach at Bondi—tall, upstanding, with genuine love of humanity, careful of other people’s safety but perfectly happy to risk their own lives to save yours. She blinked. And rumour said that apparently this guy wasn’t even shackled to some discerning woman.
She was not bowled over! Not at all! She liked Angus for his solid dependability but this Simon beat his father hands down on the warmth stakes, that was all.
He was still waiting for her to answer him. Question? ‘Nice to meet you, too.’ What else could she say except something to get her out of his doorway? ‘I’d better leave you to unpack.’
He didn’t look like he wanted her to leave but she forced her feet to move. By the time she made it back to her bedroom her neck was hot with embarrassment. With great restraint she closed her door gently and with a sigh leant against it.
Talk about vibration. So much vibration it was lucky they hadn’t spontaneously combusted. Holey dooley, she was in trouble if they were both going to live in this house for the next few weeks and react like that. Or maybe it was one-sided and he was totally oblivious to her. She smiled at her feet. Somehow she doubted it.
Simon watched her go. Couldn’t help himself, really. Not a beauty in the stereotypical sense, her face was too angled for that, but she was a sassy, sexy little thing, and she had a definite pert little wiggle when she walked. She reminded him a bit of Maeve’s girlfriends with that bolshie, I’m-my-own-woman persona that young females seemed to have nowadays.
Lord, he sounded like an old man but, seriously, this generation made him smile. But, then, didn’t all women make him smile? Which might be why he hadn’t seemed to find himself tied to just one. Problem with growing up with four sisters? Or problem with him and commitment?
Not that he didn’t plan to have a family, settle down and be the best dad and husband he could be, but pledging to stay with one woman had been a tad difficult when he really didn’t believe the odds of finding his other half.
Maybe he would end up in Lyrebird Lake at some stage, though after this last horror year he couldn’t see himself taking the holistic approach to birth that was the norm here.
He turned back to the unpacking. Lined up the paired socks in the drawer and placed his folded jocks beside them. His last girlfriend had said his fussiness drove her mad and he was tempted to mess the line up a little but couldn’t do it.
His sisters had always thought it hilarious that he liked things tidy. Having lived briefly with all of them as adults at one time or another, being the only sibling with stable housing, it wasn’t such a bad thing. They were absolute disasters at order.
But he wouldn’t change any of them. After his mother and stepfather had moved to America someone had needed to be able to put their hands on a spare house key to help out the current family member in crisis. And mild, acquired OCD wasn’t a bad thing to have if you were a big brother—or a doctor. None of his patients had complained he was too careful.
He wondered what traits young Tara had acquired from her life and then shook his head. He didn’t want to know. Lyrebird Lake was the last place to come for a fling because everyone would know before you’d even kissed her. A little startled at how easily he could picture that scenario, he brushed it away.
This was the place you brought one woman and settled down for good and he wasn’t sure he believed in that for himself.
Five minutes later Tara had herself together enough to venture out to the kitchen, where Louisa had set out a salad for post-night-duty lunch.
The older lady hummed as she worked and the smile when she looked up to see Tara shone even brighter than normal.
‘Have you met him?’ No doubt at all whom she meant and Louisa wobbled with pride.
Tara had to smile. ‘In the hallway.’
‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’
Tara picked up a carrot stick and took a bite. Chewed and swallowed—not just the carrot but the tiny voluptuous shiver as well. Back under control. ‘He’s very handsome. But no ideas, Louisa. He’s an up-and-coming consultant here for a couple of weeks. And he’s far too nice for me.’
‘Silly girl. Of course he’s not, he’s just what you need.’ She turned and started humming again and Tara had to smile as she glanced out the window to the veranda looking over the lake. She wasn’t sure what that meant but she couldn’t get offended by Louisa’s mutterings—wouldn’t do her any good if she did.
Tara had never had the kind of hugging acceptance she’d found in the small semi-rural community and sometimes she had to remind herself it might even be okay to learn to care for these people.
Then reality would resurface and she knew it would be just like the past—something would happen, she’d have to leave under a cloud and she’d be forgotten.
But she’d always have her work now wherever she went, she reminded herself, the first stability she’d known since the orphanage, and attainment had been such a golden rush as she’d passed her last exam, and that was priceless.
While socially she might be a bit stunted, okay, she granted more than a little stunted, but the work side of her life here couldn’t be more satisfying with the midwifery-led birth centre.
She could finally do what she loved and, man, how she loved doing it. Loved the immersion in a woman’s world of